


You Asked Me To Stay

by titania522



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: #scarletvision, Avengers Compound, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Prelude Comic (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Canon Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grieving, Loss, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, soul mates, virgin hero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-24 01:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: Wanda Maximoff has lost too much - her parents, her city, and her beloved twin brother. As Sokovia falls to imminent destruction, she has nothing left to lose. She doesn't count on Vision, Tony Starks's latest creation, flying in to save her at the last moment.Takes place after the events of Avengers: Age of Ultron and spans to the beginning of Avengers: Infinity War
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

Wanda never thought she’d spend the final moments of her life floating. She’d always imagined her end would come by way of a fiery explosion, like her parents. Or lately, in a hail of gunshots, like Pietro.

Is it real? Is he truly gone?

A black chasm opens inside her, forcing bile up her throat.

_“If you stay here, you will die.”_

_“I just did. Do you know how it felt?”_

Ironic that Ultron would worry about Wanda’s well-being when he had robbed her of the only person in the world who had meant anything to her. When Pietro died, so did she.

How does dying feel?

Like careening into a barrier, experiencing every shattered bone and burst blood vessel all at once but magnified beyond human endurance. The unspeakable agony of something being torn away, like the raw shredding of muscle fiber. Endless, bloody pain.

Then nothing.

Everything afterward is just one, big, uninterrupted nothing.

And now, with the city falling through space, she, too, has become nothing. Just a bag of flesh filled with the howling wind.

She floats. The city falls. And there’s nothing left to do but to let it happen.

So when Vision comes behind her and scoops her up into his vibranium arms, she can’t compute it. Can’t fit the synthezoid’s actions into the dead-end that she’s crashed into.

There is no floating anymore. They are flying. Hurtling away from the end of everything she’s ever known – her city, her childhood, Pietro - towards something different. A place where none of that can exist.

She considers struggling against her savior, considers a drop to the earth that is too sudden, too precipitous for him to outfly, but she knows before the idea comes to full fruition that it is futile. This new being Stark has created won’t allow her to fall – she doesn’t have to read Vision’s mind to understand this. He won’t let her shatter against the ground.

He’s left her no other choice but to live.


	2. Wanda - The big empty

**Wanda**

The weeks after Sokovia bleed together, that uninterrupted emptiness returning as soon as everyone is settled in the new Avenger’s Compound, a refurbished Stark Industries warehouse deep in the mountains of upstate New York. Wanda perceives the grandness of the place as soon as they arrive, but she has no store of curiosity left to motivate her to explore. She rarely leaves her room; during that first week, not even her bed. The nightmares wake her frequently, leading to a lethargy during the day that encourages her to stay down and stay alone.

Her only comfort, if she can call it that, are the sitcoms she watches at all times of the day, the ones she used to watch with her family as a young girl while their city was roiled by war beyond their tiny flat. Turns out the compound has access to channels featuring almost every program ever been made and Wanda makes the most of them. _I Love Lucy, Bewitched, The Dick Van Dyke Show, Mary Tyler Moore_ – even the most forgettable sitcoms, she has access to them.

She would have been a kid in a candy shop if she didn’t want to crawl into bed and simply cease to exist every minute of every day.

Her grief is tolerated. She wouldn’t be surprised if Steve had given orders that she be left alone. As a result, she’s given wide berth by the team, even the synthezoid who saved her life, the one she isn’t quite ready to engage with.

She should be grateful. She had been waiting for death and instead, Vision showed up.

But he’d also seen her utterly destroyed, with no will left to live. That’s not usually the face a person wants to show the world.

So she stays away, avoiding him when they pass in the common areas. He tries to make eye contact, but she looks away. When he speaks, she retreats to the other side of the room.

She can’t. She’s not ready. He’s seen the end of everything and if she talks to him, she’ll be forced to acknowledge that. She can only fall apart so many times before the pieces of her scatter away, never to be retrieved again.

Tell that to Vision, though. Apparently, subtlety isn’t part of his programming.

It’s the middle of the night when they finally speak. She hasn’t slept in days – the nightmares have been relentless and every time they seem to end, another wave of horrors washes over her until, after the fourth nightmare in a row, she gets out of bed and makes herself a cup of chamomile. She’s grateful to whoever stocks the kitchen that the tea to be found is the loose kind, and very high quality so that she’s able to perfectly adjust the strength and flavor. Tonight, she’ll need a very stiff tea if she has any hope of getting back to sleep.

She senses a presence and, nerves cracked from nights of insomnia and operating on the strength of instinct, she turns and almost fires a blast of energy squarely into Vision’s chest. She pulls back just as she recognizes the metallic-grey accented red face, the gold gem, the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

“You scared me,” she whispers, relaxing her battle stance.

He cocks his head to the side, the movement not entirely natural. “I apologize. It was not my intention.”

She turns away, continuing her preparations, wishing he wasn’t there at that very moment. Not after all these nightmares. Not with the way she feels. “I’m a little jumpy, that’s all. I was just finishing up here.”

“Ms. Maximoff,”

“Wanda,” she corrects, plunging the tea-strainer in the boiling water, hoping it will make the tea steep faster. “Just Wanda.”

“Wanda. Yes, thank you,” he answers and his voice is weak. Shaky? She glances over at him. Is he nervous? Can someone like him get nervous?

“I know we don’t know each other very well, but I have been meaning to ask. Have I done something to offend you?”

“What?” she sets the strainer in the cup and turns to take him in. Of all the conversations she’s dreaded having with him, this is not how any of them start. “Why would you think that?”

“I cannot help but sense that you are avoiding me. Perhaps it is my inexperience with human behavior but yesterday, it was clear that upon my approach, you stopped and walked in the opposite direction. As I was the only other person in the corridor, I must conclude that I was the reason for your decision to change course.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, exhaling it forcibly from her lungs. “I…” she takes a good look at him again and finds it impossible to come up with a plausible lie. What’s more, she doesn’t want to lie to him. The urge to speak the truth is as inexplicable as this whole encounter. “You’re right. I have been avoiding you. But it’s not because I’m offended with you.”

His face, so alien and yet so perfectly balanced in its features, darkens in confusion. “If I haven’t offended you, then why…”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she whispers.

“Please. I simply want an opportunity to correct any errors on my part. I am still learning how to do this.”

“It’s not you. It’s…” She forces the words out. “It’s because of what happened in Sokovia,” her heart races at a desperate speed. “Because you came back for me.”

“Are you embarrassed that you needed saving? Even the strongest among us requires assistance at times.”

Every hair follicle on her body stands at attention and she’s forced to wrap her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “I’m not embarrassed because of that. I’m embarrassed because I didn’t want to be saved.”

“Oh,” he whispered, his brain visibly working through the implications of her words. She’s thrown him into some kind of feedback loop failure because he remains in this attitude of consideration for what feels like an interminable amount of time.

“You know, I don’t really want this tea after all.” She steps away, making to go around him. “I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

“Wanda,” he says, stopping her retreat with an outstretched hand. “You must not feel embarrassed for the most human response to a grievous loss.”

A sob builds in her throat but she swallows it down, unable to say anything.

He tilts his head again, an expression filled with a tenderness no machine should be able to replicate. “I will not apologize, because I am not sorry for what I did. I am not sorry that you are here.”

She mumbles something like “Thank you,” or is it “So glad to be here?” Maybe she says nothing at all. Her feelings are awry. Embarrassment at her vulnerability warring with relief that he doesn’t hold her surrender against her and exasperation that she should care either way.

And the remarkable realization that the first glimmer of understanding would come from him, an AI, a glorified machine, confounds her the most. But he isn’t just a machine, is he? She read him even before he was “brought online.” She saw into his mind and it was as distinct, as riotous, as any other person’s. He is, without a doubt, a sentient consciousness.

She gives him a quick nod and steps around him.

Inside her room, she shuts the door behind her and leans against it, breathing long and hard. She knows next to nothing about him but this exchange – she should have predicted it. What did he say when he was first made?

_I am on the side of Life._

For better or worse, she’s a part of that, whether she likes it or not.

A fizzing sound – Wanda doesn’t know how else to describe it – interrupts her thoughts. The wall glows, an outline of a man appearing.

Power surges instinctively through her and, when the outline resolves, she finds herself for the second time in one night nearly blasting Vision into the night.

“Excuse me?” she asks, making her hands glow brighter. She might not be much these days but she can still protect herself. “Did you just phase into my bedroom?”

His face registers surprise – it’s funny, almost cartoonish. “I wanted to reach you before you returned to bed.”

Wanda powers down, rubbing her eyes to calm her irritation. “Vision. You phased into my room in the middle of the night without permission. You can’t do that.”

“I keep forgetting that.” And there he goes again, taking a trip to his happy, brain-working place again. It doesn’t last as long this time. He blinks quickly before extending his hand, which holds her still steaming tea. “You went through a great deal of trouble to make this. I thought you might want it before it gets cold.”

Wanda’s annoyance evaporates. He really was born only a few weeks ago and privacy must not be a part of his…programming or whatever. But the gesture is a thoughtful one and she’s touched by it. “Thank you. I guess I was a little rude earlier.”

He smiles, which transforms his face, making it less off-putting. If you can get past the color and the hybridization of metal, muscle, and skin, it’s easy to see he is quite handsome. “I find that people tend to get either hostile or avoidant when matters of great emotional vulnerability are addressed.”

“I chose both, it seems,” she says, taking a sip of tea, humming in approval. She takes a seat at the edge of her bed and, dusting off her manners from an ancient time when she actually needed them, invites him to take a seat in the only other available chair – one that is paired with a desk she never uses. “I’m not at my best these days. I apologize.”

“There is no need to apologize,” he says, crossing his legs primly. He looks almost professorial and it…suits him. That, together with the snug sweater, grey slacks, and what looks like very expensive Italian leather loafers – he looks downright dashing. “It is understandable, given the circumstances. It is why you have been left alone.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there.” She takes another sip, relaxation seeping through her. She’s not sure if it is the tea or Vision’s company, but the knot of misery in her stomach is not drawn as tightly as it had been earlier this evening.

“The ‘But’ is you will have to begin training soon. It has been…discussed.”

Of course, she would be the subject of conversation. “And what is the conclusion?”

Vision spreads his hands. She likes the gesture, she realizes. He glides through all his movements. He’s not fidgety or jumpy, and it goes a long way towards calming her as well. “Natasha will speak to you soon. There is some interest from allies at S.H.I.E.L.D. regarding our ability to assist in covert missions. You are seen as a valuable asset.”

Wanda nods, considering this. Of course, her emotional convalescence would have to come to an end. “I’m not sure I’m ready, honestly.”

Vision considers her a moment. Who knows how many calculations he is making as he does so. “If I am not overstepping my boundaries, may I suggest you should wait until you are ready? It is your right to mourn as long as you need to.”

She lowers the cup. Being told that this, all that she is experiencing, is a space she is entitled to, a space that is hers by right is like a revelation. She finds herself grateful to him yet again. She holds the tea cupped in her hand, relishing its warmth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he takes this as a sign the conversation is at an end because he rises and moves towards the wall. “I will leave you to your rest. Good night.”

Blissful threads of sleepiness are not far away. “Good night. Oh, and Vision?”

He is just beginning to phase but stops. “Yes?”

“The door, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm going to make a confession - I'm a little nervous about posting this story. It's tricky when you're dealing with such a massive universe because it's easy to get things wrong. If I do, don't hesitate to let me know in the comments. Gently, though. I'm a fragile creature.
> 
> See you next Monday!
> 
> Sunday teasers over on titaniasfics(.)tumblr(.)com <3


	3. Vision - This thing called life (part a)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned the chapters of this fic to be no more than 1.5k words each, so of course, the minute I get into Visions' POV, the length of the chapters double. So he gets 2 POV chapters back-to-back (Chapters 3 & 4) and, to be fair, Wanda will get the following 2 chapters in her POV as well. Best laid plans and all that.
> 
> Subscribe or bookmark to get an email each time I update.
> 
> Leave me a note! I'd love to know what you think <3.

This world he inhabits is both wondrous and mysterious.

The compound is surrounded by nature, which Vision explores each day before everyone wakes. He watches the sun rise over the highest peaks, allows the rain to drench him, follows the river down to the first small towns at the foot of those mountains.

He categorizes plants, careful not to pluck them from where they live their brief but colorful existences. He follows deer as they bound through the woods, observes birds nesting through tall trees while below, saplings struggle to reach sunlight between the slivers that taller trees deign to leave for them.

He counts the veins that thread through leaves, the formation of petals on flowers, studies their vein pattern in search of mathematical sequences that should not exist in something so inconsequential but do, and his replica of a human’s body pulses with the thrill of so much life. He discovers, during these excursions, that he is fully equipped with all the senses necessary to process the physical world.

The sight of the infinite variations of greens and browns that inhabit the forest.

The smell of wet soil.

The swish and rush of water around rocks.

The wind as it brushes, brisk and playfully against his man-made skin.

The metallic flavor of rain and sunlight.

It is life, and the imperative is so powerful, at times, he fears it will overwhelm his emotional matrix and provoke a cascade failure. There is a place for everything, order and chaos coexisting in fragile and elegant harmony. He takes it all in, and some days, it’s so beautiful, it’s almost too much for him to bear. 

**

Vision respects Ms. Maximoff---Wanda’s request to not materialize in her room in the middle of the night. He takes extra care to avoid those moments when she is undressed, engaged in personal grooming, or sleeping. Instead, he waits until she is watching television to pay her a visit

“I know you’re there,” Wanda’s voice comes through the wall. When he materializes in her room, her eyes are heavy with exhaustion. “Doors are really not your thing, are they?”

“You said not to phase into your room in the middle of the night.”

“The implication was ever. As in don’t EVER do it. If you want to speak to me, just knock on the door.”

“But it was open, so I assumed...” he trails off.

“That’s what knocking is for.”

“Do you not find it…time consuming…to constantly open and close doors when moving through your home?” he asks.

Wanda’s lips quirk up, though she doesn’t quite smile. “Not all of us can move through walls the way you can. And some spaces are personal. Humans value privacy.”

“But…doors?”

She covers her mouth, her nose pinched above her fingers, before dropping her hand. “It’s hard for you too, isn’t it?”

“I confess, it has been challenging to adapt to,” he spreads his hands, “everything.”

“I know a little something about that.”

They watch each other in silence. It’s clear she wonders why he is there and it is equally clear that he has no real reason for wandering into her space except for a desire to see her and make sure she is well. She is in no physical distress and her emotional state appears stable, an observation confirmed by the orderly nature of her room and her personal hygiene, which has improved since they first arrived.

“Vision?”

“Pardon me. I..I was simply confirming that you are healthy and fully functional.”

She sweeps a hand over her figure. “At least the physical parts work.”

“Very good. Well then,” He points at the door. “Progress, you see?”

Wanda’s face splits into a small smile, the first time she’s ever offered him one, and it transforms her face. “Progress.”

Once outside her room, he finds his thoughts scattered and he is unable to recall his next scheduled activity. A search through his agenda reminds him that he should be on his way to the command center to complete a task Mr. Stark has requested. The odd feeling of distraction plagues him and he schedules a self-diagnostic for later that afternoon.

**

Ms.---Wanda – slowly emerges from her mourning. She no longer avoids her teammates, including him, in the common areas of the compound. While she is still hesitant to engage in conversations with others, she has taken to joining the team for dinner. Everyone is gentle with her, their empathy of a quiet variety. The kind warriors give their comrades. The kind that relies more on actions than words.

Natasha, who supplies her with clothes and, at times, a gruff kind of company.

Sam, who jokes with her about…everything.

Steve, who discretely makes sure she has enough to eat, especially during those days when she barely touches her meals.

Rhodey, who steers conversations away from topics that might be too much for her.

Mr. Stark, when he visits, who doesn’t discriminate when inflicting his…personality…on everyone.

And Vision? Vision fades into the background and observes. He is self-contained, absorbed in learning how everyone interacts, all the while monitoring Wanda’s emotional and physical state.

His observations have a corollary effect on his ability to interpret Wanda’s state of well-being without explicitly being told. He interrogates himself, searching for an explanation for this strange synergy, this acute awareness of her that he does not experience with the other members of the compound. Perhaps it’s the energy signature they share through the Mind Stone, the energy that both shapes his existence and gifted Wanda her powers. He suspects it was how he was able to locate her in Sokovia as the city plummeted to its destruction.

Perhaps it is the nature of their abilities, also derived from the Mind Stone, that draws him to her. His ability to control his own physical composition, her ability to shape the composition of energy around her.

Or perhaps it is because hers was the first voice he heard in his mind before he went online. The first face he saw when he came into existence. His first memory. It’s no wonder he is attuned to her.

Regardless of which explanation holds true, the fact remains that he has a compulsion towards Wanda that he cannot ignore.

So he is in a position to predict the snag in her progress when Clint Barton arrives after an extended leave with his family. He did not return to the Stark Tower after Sokovia, but traveled directly to his farm. Now, he is back at the compound, ready to begin team training. Vision is in the common room with Natasha, Steve, and Sam when he arrives.

“This is some upgrade over the Tower,” he says as he glances around the soaring open space of the common area – the metallic greys and chrome glinting in the sun that streams through the wall-to-wall windows overlooking the main grounds and the mountains beyond.

“No city traffic out here,” Natasha retorts, greeting him with a hug.

“This is farther out in the boonies than your place,” Sam adds, shaking his hand.

“Vision,” Clint turns to him, offering him a handshake, which he accepts. “I’m digging the preppy vibe you got going on,” he teases, indicating his outfit. Vision glances at his collared shirt, sweater and slacks he favors because of the way the soft texture feels against his skin. It’s a striking contrast to the jeans and plaid button-down Clint is currently wearing.

Clint whistles as he takes them all in. “So, what have you guys been doing out here?”

“You aren’t the only one who needed to recover from Ultron’s shenanigans,” Steve says clapping him on the shoulder.

Clint’s expression grows somber. “So, uh, Wanda. She doing okay?”

“She has good days and bad days,” Natasha answers. “More good days lately.”

He frowns, unable to take his eyes off his boots. “You think I could see her?”

Steve takes a deep breath, his uncertainty evident. Pietro Maximoff died to save his life, as well as the life of a child during the battle of Sokovia. The effect of Clint’s arrival on Wanda’s progress would not be an entirely positive one.

“If I may suggest,” Vision began, drawing all eyes towards him. Sometimes, his role as observer made others forget his presence, “it may be best to forewarn Wanda of Clint’s arrival and let her decide how to proceed.”

“Agreed,” Steve says. “You don’t want to catch her by surprise. She’s had it rough.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Natasha says. “Guys, maybe help Clint choose one of the unoccupied rooms to settle in.”

As Natasha makes her way to the wing of the house that contains Wanda’s bedroom, Vision experiences a twisting sensation in his chest. He knows his emotional matrix is evolving, giving him access to emotions that he cannot always name and this is no exception. He is tense, concerned for Wanda and for the outcome of her conversation with Clint. A search through online resources forces him to conclude that he is experiencing anxiety.

He is anxious for Wanda. And like much else in her life, he’s not sure how to help her. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've posted anything. After WandaVision, I knew I wanted to explore these characters more deeply. This is not a fix-it fic. I try to remain as close to canon as possible while filling in the blanks on how these two characters fall in love. Because I'm all about the romance!
> 
> I'll be posting one short chapter per week. This fic is outlined for 10 chapters but in the writing, it has taken off in other directions. Of course.
> 
> Takes place between the end of Avengers: Age of Ultron and Avengers: Infinity War. Incorporates details from the Avengers: Infinity War Prelude comic book series.
> 
> For weekly teasers every Sunday, head over to my tumblr: titaniasfics(.)tumblr(.)com


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